


Earthshine

by WerewolvesAreReal



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alcohol, Alien Biology, Anal Sex, Bottom Spock, First Time, Five-Year Mission, M/M, The Enemy Within
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3718429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/pseuds/WerewolvesAreReal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place during Enemy Within. Spock is disturbed by Kirk's strange behavior, and goes to his quarters to confront him. This is either a mistake, or a very good decision, depending upon one's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earthshine

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this based on a tumblr assignation from spocksmile to write a kinky fic based on a randomly-given episode. I got 'The Enemy Within'. I'm not sure this counts as 'kinky', but there is definitely sex. Eh.

After beaming up from Alpha 177, something about the Captain’s manner strikes Spock as… strange. It is not something quantifiable, or even easily defined. For Jim Kirk, this in itself is hardly unusual; however, even given the high-stress situation, Kirk’s behavior is well outside usual parameters. Instead of displaying a typical grim determination as he contemplates the situation of the landing party, Kirk appears at first almost… _hesitant._ It is hardly typical behavior for the Captain. If that were not enough, he later appears on the bridge with an almost overly-aggressive demeanor, and yet at the same time is almost… casual? No, not casual. But there is a strange quality to his movements. He prowls about the bridge, slow and languid, but observing everything about him with a dark eye.

The bridge crew notices it and becomes restless, even though they do not seem to consciously see the difference.

Whatever is disturbing the captain, Spock decides, it is likely not related to the situation on Alpha 177 - or, if it is, only in the most roundabout of fashions. No, there is something quite serious weighing on the Captain; and the Enterprise can hardly expect to work at full efficiency with a disturbed commanding officer. Accordingly, he resolves to confront the captain at the first available opportunity.

He eyes the man from his post, watching the other slump in his chair, surveying his crew with hooded eyes and the touch of a dark smile on his lips.

The bridge on the air is tense; Spock catches the occasional flickers of confusion on the faces of others, as though they are trying to grasp what is wrong - and failing. His resolve grows.

Kirk, at least, seems oblivious to the tension. At length, he rises from the center chair with a deliberate, almost predatory movement that makes the hair on his neck rise.

The captain doesn't even bother delegating the chair; he simply leaves the bridge.

Spock sits there, carefully calm, for nearly an hour - enough time for the sake of propriety. Then, he straightens. “Ms. Uhura, you have the conn,” he declares, striding from the bridge.

The relief is almost palpable.

* * *

 

He goes straight to the Captain’s quarters after leaving the bridge. He pauses for a long moment outside the door, wondering what precisely would be an appropriate way to broach this confrontation. Humans often do not respond well to forthright conjectures, and even if Kirk would, what can he say? “Sir, the way you walk is disturbing the crew? Your posture was submissive, then aggressive, and doesn't reflect an ordered mind? You gave a yeoman a strange look earlier when she asked for your opinion?”

Hardly hard fact, any of it. Nevertheless, all significant. But how can he put it?

He exhales slowly. Nothing with Kirk, it seems, is destined to be simple. At length, he decides to open very vaguely and see what results from general, probing questions. Hardly a solid plan, but it will do. Knowing that the door is keyed to himself, he enters.

The captain is sitting in one corner of the room, slumped on a chair with his legs spread and loose in front of him. Three shallow cuts mar his face, but more immediately distracting is the large, orange bottle of Saurian brandy dangling loosely in his grip.

“Spock.” A smile touches Kirk's face, but it doesn't quite meet his eyes. His hair is mussed, his eyes glazed and dilated. He licks his lips wetly, then tilts his head back to take a long drought from the bottle of brandy. It swishes with empty spaces when he lowers it again. “I was just thinking of going to find you.”

“I am not certain it would be wise for you to leave in this state, Sir.”

His eyes flicker to the bottle. A breach of regulations, he notes: alcohol consumption is not permitted on duty.

“But, you see, I needed to see you,” Kirk continues. He sets down the bottle abruptly, pushing himself to his feet. He starts forward, then stops suddenly.

He reaches up, touching the reddened cut on his own cheek.

“...Would you agree, Spock, that it's a good idea to switch approaches, when your method for reaching a goal doesn't seem to be working?”

“That seems rather logical, Sir.”

Kirk nods thoughtfully. Then he seems to forget the question.

“There are things... things I need to say. We don't talk enough, do we, Spock?”

“We talk every day, Captain.”

“Oh, but not about the things that matter. Not about what I want to tell you, when I look at you.”

Spock considers this statement carefully.

“It is said that liquor can loosen the tongues of humans,” Spock says slowly. “...That it can cause things to be said which would, in other circumstances, go silent.”

Kirk flashes him a barbed grin. “I'm not that drunk, Science Officer,” he says. The words would be more assuring if he weren't still staring at Spock with that same, searing intensity. “And sometimes, alcohol just gives us the opportunity – or the excuse – to show ourselves a little more clearly.”

Spock slowly steps toward the wall. “Perhaps I should summon Doctor McCoy - “

With a quickness belying his apparent intoxication, Kirk inserts himself between Spock and the communications panel. “There's no need for that.”

“ - Captain - “

“He doesn't need to be here,” Kirk assures. He moves closer, backing Spock against the far wall. Inches separate them. Spock can see the hazel flecks in the captain's eyes, smell the sharp brandy wafting on his breath.

He tries to take it as a reminder.

“Captain, your behavior is not within usual parameters - “

“Live a little, Spock.” A hand reaches out, grasping his upper arm. Kirk shifts, impossibly, even closer.

“I really must - “

His protest stutters to a halt when the captain takes a mere half-step forward – enough to press their bodies flush together. Kirk watches his reaction, and it must be deliberate, the way he shifts his hips so their groins are locked together.

“I don't understand,” Spock rasps.

Kirk rotates his hips again, almost casually; Spock grunts in surprise, his hands rising automatically to clutch at the captain's waist. This seems to please him.

He shifts away the grip on his shoulder, reaching out with a rough hand to card through Vulcan-sleek hair. This hand trails down to the bottom of Spock's neck, massaging in slow circles.

Spock thinks there was something he was protesting, but he can't quite imagine what.

“Sir,” he says anyway, helplessly, and Kirk huffs a laugh against his cheek.

Kirk's free hand comes down to rest on his hip, thumb brushing under the seam of his shirt. He becomes very aware, suddenly, of the bulging heat pressing against his thigh, and doesn't know how he's missed it until now.

Kirk's eyes have a dangerous glint in them. He's wondering what that means, right before the man leans forward and kisses him.

Spock has been kissed in the human way before, chaste exchanges with persistent women. Once, a shy man darted forward to touch their lips together, and that, too, had no effect on him. But this is different. There is nothing shy or furtive in the captain's method. This is a claiming, sheer and emotive.

He drowns in it. Kirk sucks wetly at his lip, tongue flicking and retreating in favor of the nip of teeth. It's a vicious, crushing sort of kiss, and he groans under the suddenness of it, making sounds that are muted by Kirk's mouth on his.

His hands travel of their own accord up the human-hot skin of Kirk's back, drawing up the golden command tunic and smoothing over his broad muscles. These, too, seem utterly alien.

But he pulls back, again, foggy and confused. "Sir, I do not think - "

Kirk surges against him, pressing their lips together, trying to firmly silence the objection. Panting heavily, Spock twists away. "Sir," he says again. Sparks of lust dance under his fingers, transmuted through Kirk's skin through telepathy. He can feel the throb of Kirk's erection pulsing against him, and squirms. He tightens his grip as Kirk takes his shifting as an invitation to press his own own hands under Spock's tunic.

The human thrusts his hips forward again, and at the same time delivers a searing kiss that leaves him momentarily speechless. Spock allows his grip to falter, and suddenly Kirk dislodges them long enough to start tugging their uniform-tops off.

Their shirts fall in a flurry of cloth, once Spock cooperates, and somehow this state of half-undress only serves to emphasize the growing arousal between the human's legs.

Kirk is distracted, too.

“Do I not excite you?” he asks, stroking a hand through the soft hair on Spock's chest. His hand drift's downward, toward the smooth black pants.

Spock doesn't trust himself to speak.

He touches the hand with his own, slowly, brushing their fingers together with aching roughness. Kirk looks at him, seems to note the gesture, and smiles faintly.

Then, reaching down, he tugs at the Vulcan's regulation-pants. Spock takes the hint with only slight hesitation, shedding these quickly.

Kirk takes a slow, appreciative exhale when he sees Spock – and if he's bothered by anything, he doesn't show it. He steps close again, and in relief Spock accepts the offered kiss, reaching up to brush his fingers over Kirk's shoulder, his cheek, his neck and shoulder, then sweeping down his back over the curving swell off his butt.

Kirk makes no move to undress himself, so he tremulously hooks his fingers into the man's waistband. Spurred on by Kirk's leer, he lowers the pants carefully, allowing the man's turgid organ to take full prominence.

Thoughts of disrobing abandoned, he leaves Kirk to kick away the last clothes as he considers the bobbing shaft. Then, before Kirk can move away, he trails his fingers down the man's stomach, stroking slowly along the full length of the member.

His partner grunts, apparently surprised by this boldness. Rubbing at the head, Spock makes a fist around the organ and begins to pull in long, even movements, feeling the silken skin rippling beneath his touch.

Kirk sways into the touch, his length throbbing and heated in Spock's hand; then, leaning bodily against Spock and shifting his hips, he pushes aside the Vulcan's arm.

“We'll get there,” Kirk breathes, amused by his impatience. “I don't want to end this too soon.”

His nerves are on fire. Too soon?

But he follows when Kirk starts to tug him away, relenting to the calloused hands that dip down and investigate the narrow hollows of hips. Quick kisses pepper his neck, his shoulders. He's briefly startled when his thigh knocks against the bed and he realizes where Kirk has led him.

Kirk seems pleased at his surprise, leaning forward to nip the hollow of his throat. He lets himself be pushed back.

The human's weight presses him down. The firm jut of an erection slides against his own, and he twists to find more friction. Spock tilts his head, moving to suck at Kirk's neck. The human barely seems to notice, rutting against him with long motions and groaning into his shoulder.

Spock tries to reach up, searching blindly with his sensitive fingertips. Kirk either misinterprets the this Vulcan gesture, or does not care; he uses one hand to capture Spock's wrist, pushing it above his head. He twists against this restraint uselessly for a moment, and the fingers tighten hard enough to bruise.

Then Kirk tilts his head, and he forgets his intent as chapped lips sink over the furrows of his wrists, mouthing around the delicate protruding joint and green-flushed skin. His pulse thrums. Against his chest Kirk's human-heavy heart beats slow and deliberate in response.

Covered, engulfed, he breathes hard as Kirk moves down his body, tearing away their contact with a suddenness that makes the Vulcan jolt with the loss of sensation. Finally – as though he is not curious, at all – he releases his hold on Spock's wrists, and the Vulcan immediately clutches at the human's shoulders for balance. Leisurely, Kirk meanders to the furred area where a human man would be prominently displaying his sex. Kirk looks carefully at the groin for a moment, then bends his head -

The cry Spock releases is only allowed due to pure shock, but it clearly motivates Kirk. Using his hands to spread the Vulcan's thighs, he laves lightly at the alien genital sheath before him, the barely-protruding organ only just making an appearance.

He sucks the tip into his mouth, humming around it thoughtfully when Spock twitches and arches his back. Kirk licks it from tip to base, then sucks the whole protrusion into his mouth, watching the way Spock flinches and shudders. Then he retreats, popping his lips around the tip in quick, eager motions.

When Kirk retreats, the growing length is nearly three inches and quivering. The human leans back and palms his partner's growing arousal. The sudden roughness makes Spock shiver. “Does this need to come out entirely? For you to come?”

“It will, eventually.”

Kirk pauses. “...Eventually?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“So I have to work at it more, you mean?”

“I did not mean to imply - “

“I can do that.”

Spock makes a quiet sound of surprise.

And then, “Turn around,” comes the order. “On your hands and knees, go.”

The words take a moment to register; when they do, he obeys the order with alacrity, twisting away from the human's grip and positioning himself awkwardly.

It feels awkward, anyway, until Kirk splays a flat hand over the curve of his lower back, firmly pressing it up the base of his spine. Spock hisses, bowing his head under the curl of heat that this rouses. He doesn't have time to wonder how Kirk knows about the Vulcan _chenesi;_ against his will, the direct stimulation is indeed drawing his penis fully out of its sheath. He can feel moisture gathering at the tip, and he rocks forward embarrassingly.

“Do you know how you look like this?” Those strong hands continue massaging slow circles around the raised mounds on his back, pressing harder, than slower. “To bring you to this – I could draw this out all day, and you'd let me, First Officer.”

Saying so he presses the heel of his palm hard into the _chenesi._ Spock arches into the touch, back bowing, so he's inadvertently displayed fully and more indecently than ever.

The touches soften, fade, and then stop altogether. Burning with need, Spock lets his shoulders and head sink against the bed.

Behind him, there's a rustle of motion - a clatter of drawers and objects being swiftly moved nearby. He just closes his eyes.

He almost expects the cold fingers that slide between his legs, easing him open. They spread him loose with aching care, a soft and careful stroke that only ignites a longing for more. The slippery stretch burns pleasantly, but it doesn't feel like enough, when the fingers retreat and firm hands grasp his thighs.

Kirk sinks into him slowly. Spock twists uselessly against the bed, feeling pinned, stretched out as he's filled. There's a long, aching moment where they hover on the brink, the human breathing hard and still over his back, and then Kirk starts to move.

The pace is almost tortuously languid at first. The Starfleet-regulation bed squeaks in rhythm with the unhurried thrusts, Kirk rocking them them together almost lovingly.

Spock pushes back, matching the pace. Slowly, the pulse grows more urgent, the breaths above his back becoming quick and frantic.

He has to prop himself on one arm, unable to resist the temptation to take himself in hand and begin pumping in time with the thrusts. His organ is hard and quivering, and he feels a flash of heat with each desperate stroke.

The noise he makes when he comes is purely broken, his hips stuttering and jerking as warmth floods his hand. He can't control his muscles, giving into an all-body quiver and shuddering helplessly.

“Fuck,” Kirk breathes, and thrusts faster.

Each plunge slaps sweat-slick skin across his back. The hands around Spock's hips tighten with bruising force. In a moment, the man succumbs, coming with a groan and collapsing his weight against Spock's back. Warmth pulses into his body, and the Vulcan sighs.

Spock doesn't try to move – not yet – but he twists his arm back, ghosting the tips of his fingers along Kirk's. After a pause, the captain returns this gesture, stroking his fingers and kissing his neck softly.

Spock blinks slowly at the twisted, sweat-rumpled sheets under his bare skin. He has probably never been so hasty in his life; he finds he doesn't quite regret it.

Kirk half-rolls off him, still breathing deeply. He's laid a possessive arm across the Vulcan's abdomen. Spock can hear something in the silence – a potential, the edge of words unspoken. He closes his eyes tiredly against the bed, and waits.

_“McCoy to Captain Kirk.”_

There is a long pause. Then, slowly, Kirk unwinds them, standing up bold and naked to walk to the communications panel.

“Kirk here,” he says, eyes on Spock.

“ _I need to talk to you, Captain. Now.”_

“...Can it...”

 _“It's urgent.”_ McCoy's voice is hard.

“...I'll be there in five minutes. Kirk out.”

There could have been worse timing, Spock supposes; and he sits up slowly as Kirk starts reaching for his uniform.

* * *

 

Spock watches as Captain Kirk steps off the transporter padd. He looks whole and fit, surveying his own body with careful wonder.

Two halves, whole again. An error has been fixed. Spock keeps his features expressionless.

“Do you remember it?” McCoy asks, tactlessly.

“Like a dream,” Kirk says.

But Kirk does not look at him.

There are still official matters that must be addressed. The landing part of Alpha 177 must be beamed aboard and carefully watched for any further issues. But his, too, goes smoothly, and Dr. McCoy does not require their assistance to haul the freezing away-team to Sickbay; in fact he actively scorns it. Kirk congratulates Scotty at the transporter controls as the last of the away team is moved away. Then he shifts to move beside Spock.

“We should talk about today,” he says.

“The events of this incident have certainly been fascinating,” Spock agrees.

“It's interesting, you know. I think, despite how cruel my aggressive half could be, and how weak my milder side, you brought out the best parts of me either way.”

“...I believe that certainly qualities of your personality still remained, Sir, changed though you were.”

“Oh, yes. I'd like to discuss it, in fact.”

“I would not be opposed to that.”

“Good. We don't talk enough,” Kirk emphasizes.

Slowly, Spock turns.

Kirk looks at him very deliberately, eyes glinting. A slow, challenging curve twitches at the corner of his lip. Then he casually rolls his shoulders. “Your choice,” he says, and leads the way out of the transporter room.

As always, Spock has only to follow.

 


End file.
